Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

35 yours in disintegration|| pt.3

A vision of heaven.

His thumb moved closer, caressing her lower lip. He drew closer so that he was breathing her in. Talc and sunshine. Something sweet that's entirely her. A subtle girly fragrance.

He knows and he knows and he knows and he knows that he should stay away. That no good thing will come of this right now. He knows and he knows and he knows that he should wait. But how long does he have to wait until 'someday'?

He wants her and he wants her now.

Just one.

Heavy breaths passed between them as his heart raced in anticipation

Her hand stayed on his chest, the other gripping the white towel.

His hand stayed on the side of her face, thumb caressing her lip, wand pointed on her throat. He was aching to touch her more.

He shifted his face closer savoring the moment before the kiss. As if tasting the ghost of it.

He closed his eyes and parted his lips...

Closer...

Something made hard contact with his wet face, it struck him so hard that he tasted the metallic sheen of blood in his mouth as his own teeth cut his mouth, it dribbled on the side and spilled on his lips. It must have made it's mark and with him being wet-- it got him worse. He staggered backwards, the sharp pain lingering on his skin. He pressed his cold hand on the swell on his cheek but it brought no relief. He looked at the person who did it.

Hermione's palm was still raised and on her other hand was his wand.

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes but he held himself back. He felt the pain from keeping himself from breaking down on the throbbing on his forehead and the prickling in his throat.

"You arrogant prick! Who do you think you are?"

The tears that are welling up in his eyes are making his vision blurry, he grabbed a handful of water and wiped his face so she won't see. He pressed his tongue of his cheek, the metal hard and salty as he pretended to be brazen and unmoved.

"Who do you think you are, Malfoy?"

The towel was gone now. But she didn't seem to care from her anger. Her skin was flushed with emotion.

"You have the nerve to actually think that after everything, I'd still want you? Are you that daft? I mean, for one you're flunking every test--"

So she noticed.

"But since you are serving Voldemort now, who cares, right? You have money so you'd be fine, so who cares, right?"

She took a huge intake of air.

"I don't. I don't care-"

Yes. You told me. Not anymore. Used to. Past tense.

"-not anymore. I don't want you. I don't need you. I have no business with you other than kill you myself if you get even the least close to hurting my friends and the people I care about. You can beg me on wounded knees on a floor covered with salt, crawl on all fours like a dog, promise that you'd kill and die for me, the stars and the moons but I will- NEVER!- ever- ever-" another intake of breath, "touch you again."

The room is cold.

There are icicles in his veins, traveling in his blood, cold needles on the way to his heart. If he moves, it will only go faster. So he stood still.

He wanted Hermione to stand still and look at him but she didn't. Instead she reached for the towel almost sinking in the water now to cover her body again, his wand still pointed at him. "Leave. I have to finish my bath."